


Mother Goose (Scowling in the fourth row)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hamish is overexcited, John is just pleased Sherlock hasn't annoyed anyone yet, M/M, Sherlock's bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish loves pantomimes, and being only nine, he can hardly go by himself, can he? It's this or scuba diving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Goose (Scowling in the fourth row)

‘It’s behind you!’ The crowd screamed at the warbling Dame on the stage, who slowly turned around, narrowly missing the ‘ghost’ stealing her shopping trolley. She sighed dramatically and insisted that in order to scare away the ghost, she’d ‘have to sing it again, then- won’t we?’

Hamish laughed and clapped and booed along with the rest of the audience, as did John, even if more quietly than his son, who was apparently in some form of competition with the rest of the children, as to who could be the loudest. Hamish was easily a close second to the girl towards the front (ponytail, pink dress, standing on her chair) and was yelling at the Dame at the top of his voice. John grinned from his seat, enjoying how (even though as the years passed, Hamish was becoming one of the oldest children at the Pantomime) his son still threw himself into it. It allowed him to kid himself that Hamish would stay nine forever.

Next year, Hamish would be old enough to apply for a part in a Pantomime and John could already tell that he was going to audition (even if it was just to make up numbers). It didn’t matter that his singing wasn’t the best, there were plenty of other kids who were dancing and singing (with their microphones switched off). Sherlock wasn’t pleased, exactly (he was watching the terrified Dame sing too, but with an expression of disdain, rather than delight). However, when John had informed Sherlock that it was either the Pantomime (predictable, boring and a waste of time) or Scuba Diving (dangerous, unnatural and downright stupid), Sherlock had hurriedly agreed that the Pantomime was a good idea, after all.

Time ticked by slowly for Sherlock, and raced by for Hamish and John. Hamish was almost falling over himself to go up on the stage (‘Dad, tell Father that it’s not stupid!’), any of his usual embarrassment vanishing. So, when the Dame (and her goose) called for volunteers, Hamish’s hand was the first to shoot up into the air, waving violently. When she beckoned for him to climb up onto the stage and pointed a microphone in his direction, he was beaming. Sherlock was sitting up a little straighter now and actually paying attention (now that Hamish was on stage, the predictable element had been defenestrated), whilst John looked on proudly. 

‘What’s your name then, young man?’ the Dame asked, smiling widely. Her red lipstick was smudged over half her face, as was the bright blue eye shadow. This made the smile more unnerving rather than reassuring. However, there was something about the Dame (thirty, happily married for 5+ years, retired comedian) that made Hamish trust her. Maybe it was the ridiculous dress or maybe it was how badly the actor had messed up his lines earlier. 

‘Hamish Watson-Holmes,’ replied Hamish, making sure that he enunciated each syllable (he didn’t want Father calling him out on his speech later). 

'That's a long name, Hamish! And how old are you?' 

'I'm nine.'

'Wow, you're so grown up!' The Dame exclaimed. Hamish resisted the urge to roll his eyes and bit back a sarcastic remark. He was nine, and sure he was more intelligent than most of the kids his age, but that didn't make him grown up! Instead he smiled shyly and shuffled his feet, staring determinedly at the stage. The audience cooed, but the noise was missing the distinctive sound of his parents' voices. The bright stage lights blinded him, hiding his parents and the rest of the crowd from him. He waited until the murmur quietened before looking back up at the Dame. 

'Who did you come with?' She grinned at him and waited. Hamish waited and chose his words carefully. Ever since the incident with Arthur's mother, he had been careful about his choice of wording with strangers. 

'My parents.' He gestured towards the crowd, straining his eyes to find his parents. The house lights raised and John waved from the fourth row (Sherlock smirked, which was as good as a wave). Hamish waved back and the audience smiled.  _Isn’t he adorable? It’s always so nice to see (older) kids that openly love their parents._

‘Is that them in the fourth row, on the left?’

‘Yup- that’s my dad- the one who’s waving- and Father is the one with the black, curly hair.

‘Are you enjoying the show so far?’ The Dame yelled in the direction of Sherlock and John. Sherlock scowled, folding his arms and refused to answer.

‘Yeah- thanks!’ John responded loud enough for the both of them. The Dame waved at them one last time before turning back to Hamish.

‘Are you ready to lead your team to victory?’

‘Definitely’

**

 An hour later and the Watson-Holmes had fought their way through the crowds exiting the theatre, hailed a taxi and listened to Hamish retell the entire story over and over again at least six times. Sherlock intertwined his fingers with John’s, holding Hamish close to him as his energy slowly waned and he slowly began to drift into sleep filled with geese laying golden eggs and painted red smiles.

Not long now until they were back at Baker Street. Tonight was a night for sleeping. No cases and no drawn-out experiments to supervise. Sherlock supressed a yawn (couldn’t let John see, he’d never hear the end of it) and let his mind wander to the comfort of their bed and of gradually falling asleep next to John.

And right now, despite the memory of the pantomime music still fresh in his mind, he wouldn’t have traded that evening for all the experiments in the world.


End file.
